NOVELETTE.

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 927, 13 May 1914, Page 7

NOVELETTE.

"COOO LUCK."

CBy H. SHOFERRI.) "WeD, I'm just about on my beamends," murmured Harry Clavering, gazing at a sovereign, some silver, and that Uncle Wflham won't be too Jjgztal. I was a fool to laugh when that secretary's job if I muffed the exam.—he didn't like ft *°n. WOI V* get the offer again, my boy! , I can hear hhn saying it

Clavenng ran Bis fingers through his thick brown hair, a rueful expression on his face. He pulled.a letter out of his pocket, a second oniT falling to the ground. Without troubling to pick up the fallen letter, Harry Oiaverrng re-read the first, which was a letter from his uncle, Mr. William Netherfield, a weathy publisher. "A garret and a tight belt next week, Harry remarked. Then his §»*» fell on -the letter he had left drop.

'By Jingo!" he cried. "That's old Bert's - letter. I'd forgotten all about rt. Ho gave me Marshall's address." He opened the letter and-read: "16 Paradise Street, Peckham, S.E." ' ipnoT oW Marshall I" he continued. I must.send ft off at once." Who Marshall was is explained by «» following. When Harry Clavering had been left an orphan, he went to fire with three other young men in rooms. They were looked after by an ex-guardsman. James- Marshall and very well he did his duty. Eventualy the narty broke up, and Harry went into chambers in Kensington. About a fortnight before this story opens, he suddenly remembered that he had let Christmas go without jewing Marshall a present, as he intended to. Consequently he had written to one of his chums for the old soldier's address. Now he took pen and paper, and, gjHg'g down, wrote a letter to Marshall cowing a pound postal order as a belated Christmas present. Then be went out and bought a postal order with his last sovereign, and put it in and despatched H to

•Now. l'm absolutely he murmured with a cheerful grinT "But I bet old Marshall will be pleased " The letter went on its way, and was debvered at No. 16, Paradise Street, Peckham, on the following morning! «^ , Sf ar ? *• Pwtnwa Marshall s home, the old soldier was m none too good a temper. EvervS™« i? en, f d n to te S°«°g wrong, and Mrs. Marshall and the chfldrerT were the penalty Marshall was not •rtoally throwing the fumitnre about, But no was making use of an unplea«M*sarcasm learnt in the milrtary

■?3 e ' "??• here ' B a tetter for you." #»w Mrs. Marshall nervously. JV u§? jnrekpe, and his or? r ¥orTwe^y m sSCr - 1 "x^j' 6 ..*£'' fnr e°* ™»>" he r*- *£?' *%*' '?**'* * Jette ' rrom young Mr. Oaverin' an' 'e's •ent me_a postal order for a quid. You can 'ave that fire bob 'at you want now. or gaL" xr" G ? > £-* nck > wishes me," Mr. Jteshaßl coirfanued meditatively. W? this is a bit ■nVow. I'll go out an' cash it" j>J5!-2? artea from house, and |fcPM«en% returned with the money in fcl* *** Ft 8*7 e fiTe shillings to hwwrfe, and handed the childien a shilling to buy sweets with. fe-, On S £ e chfldren admitted a shabbfly dressed man. »..# \J » a «**?! " can 7°° ,en «* as W *?? *** ev-rywhere £• Tve got a chance of "n'oM hat'Q knock me out at once'• Xonrse I can ol' man," said Mar•WgeniaDy. J£ aM "a it back if you don't 'get the.

l,r,J^ kB /T I - Jim ' rammed the man »• (Hia name was BichardW) Xonro a reaTgood sort, you are." Kicnardaon hurried off, bought a 2?n> * «?P.,and had a ahaveT He rtfll fooked shabby, but he was now dean and neat Then he made h£ E*l £L? agar factory where his name be™ mentioned, >» the foreAfter some conversation the m o™w riglrt ir- y S n ' ll do " Start tomorrow. Mind your appearance, though; that guvnor's nutson the neat, and tfct °£rt of fo^T thanked the hTE3\^? d gl™** inwardly that he had been able to obtain the" halfcrown from MaStedE J* Te "wetting to smoke " -n° aretes 3115 «"#££ awa* but half baa?"* KijKL SRd morimg^^ /That's the second time I've hin He put np his hand to stop a motorttSe «»*Ktor scowled at K down suddenly. In the ordinary wav was'tof hTteXer^^ 7 **" mOnUDg to lose

"TW I " wled the conductor. olidays 'As tToutlu don't wonder 'e gets S"i ,n^°*r m *** Richardson's thoughts and they so influenced him that aY he got out on to the footboard to jump pocket and withdrew one of the cigars the foreman had given him E nn« 7 * Blß P**®'" he said. " 'Ave a fe ; t they - J ain ' t arf bad." -SS-"— 4 "Wre 3good iW «ff^C ßichardß ° n «•«**, spring- *%* m . Wfl,, ' am NetheriiL- Uarr y Clavenng's uncle »« "*3* ■tag Fleet Street. He was «rt£.? U r £ pkasant *™w» of mmd mSSSfr £** Partially because of the nrnddy streets and the fact th*+ *HI had j£Ld%*£ thev ggrf hup by He haoVsignaled to frth to stop, but each If them was

"He needn't expect a pemur more

> from jne." Mr. Netherfield said as he tr.miped along. "He laughed at the idea of the secretarial position, but he s laughing on the wrong side of hiface now, I'll be bound." ..He glanced over his shoulder to se if he could observe a motor-bus destined for the route which took bin near to his nephew's chambers. J: it happened, one was drawing near. "Full, I'll be bound!" snorted AT Netherfield. "And if it isn't full tV conductor will pretend he hasn't seei me."

Now, it transpired that the oncoming motor-bus was officered by the conductor whose acquaintance we have already made.

''Charin' Cross, Pickerdilly, 'lde Park I" he yelled. Then he caught sight of Mr. -Netherfield's umbrella doing semaphore duty. In the ordinary way the conductor would have mut-ter.-d, "Ang 'ml Why can't 'e get on while we're goin' " But now he signalled for the bus to stop, and *.-.! i Mr. Netherfield came up to it he siderately helped the old gentleman i_ "Bless my soul!" thought Mr. Netherfield, now somewhat mollified "Quite a pleasant mannered man." Eventually the bus came to a standstill near to Harry Clavering's" chambers. Mr. Netherfield got up and commenced to leave the bus.

"Lemme take your bag, sir," said the conductor, taking hold of the brief bag Mr. Netherfield carried. Thank you," said Harry's uncle genially.

When he was on the pavement the conductor handed Mr. Netherfield the bag, and was thanked again. Ihen, before he knew what'he was doing, the conductor said: • • ■ • "Good luck, sir!"

He was sorry directly he said it; he felt he had taken a liberty. But the words had been ringing in his head ever since Richardson had said them, and they had slipped out unconsciously. But theyhad a very different effect to that which the conductor imagined. Acting on the impulse, Mr. Netherfield boarded the bus again, and went a little way farther. He got into conversation with the conductor, elicited from him the facts that his pay was small and his hours were long. "Call and see me to-morrow," said Mr. Netherfield, handing the conductor a card. "I'll find you a better job." "Lummy!" the conductor was soliloquising in a whisper. "Won't the missis be glad to 'ear this! An' allthrough that chap sayin' .'Good luck!' to me. She'll be that glad she won't know 'ow to 'old 'erself. Good luck's come at last, arter all." Meanwhile Mr. Netherfield was walking briskly along the street. But he was a very different gentleman to the one he met in Fleet Street. That one wore a scowl and a discontented, peevish expression. This one looked a jolly old boy—the sort of old gentleman you see on Christmas cards. He was smiling all over his face now, and looked so benevolent that a cadger was on him in a moment and did not go away dissatisfied. If you had peeped inside Harry Covering's Jiving room about five minutes later, you would have seen Mr. Netherfield has face beaming, a glass of wine held in his hand. You would have seen Harry Clavering also with a glass of wine; and yotu would have heard them toasting Harry's new appointment.

"Good luck, my boy!" Mr. Netherfiold said, placing his glass against Harry's and then emptying it.

THE YELLOW POWDER. The scene was a house in India in the ever memorable year of the Great Mutiny; a house of three stories, most strongly buiit, with massive outer door and heavy doors guarding the foot of each staircase. It stood in a somewhat isolated position, and at this time its only occupants' were four women.

One of these lay dying in the highest room; an old—old woman, dying of. no disease, but "simply drifting out of life under the great weight of her years. Sight and sound were almost gone from her, and only the familiar voice of her grandchild Verona had power to reach the dim understanding. To all things e.se (and even at intervals to that) she was one already dead. Verona, her elder sister, and their mother made up the four. The men ere all away, and that very morning, when there had come wild rumours of a great uprising and of terrible things already done, the servants had one and all fled. For these three women fhght was an impossibility, even had they known of any place of safety. It was impossibe to leave the grandmother, and equally impossible to take her with them; besides, was it not probable that the men would hear the rumours and come flying back, and then, if they found the house deserted, vvnat could they think? So they stayed.

'Oh," cried the elder sister, sud- J denly breaking a long silence, "If we only had that, wonderful powder ' Grandma talked of, there would be very little to fearl" ' She was alluding to a powder which the grandmother was supposed to have in her possession—a wonderful death-dealing powder, with which it was possible for one man to slay a whole army—but of which she had steadfastly refused to _ reveal the method of using, on the ground that it was too dangerous a weapon to be lightly given into, other hands. If ever any real necessity arose, she would tell them, but not before. \ erona, at the time, .had been unable oi conceive of any "real necessity" which could require such a thing as this, and had altogether doubted that an ? Powder could have the properties which her grandmother supposed this one to have. Now, however, she at the idea as a forlorn hope. Why not " she cried. "After all, it may be a reality; and, if it is, I am sure she would give it to us if I could only make her understand. At anv rite it is worth trying." "Certainly it is/' said the mother; you must make her understand, Verona, because—hark!" Her words ended m a shriek of terror, as a wild tumult of sounds broke the stillness. W ltnout another word they rushed upstairs, barring the doors behind them aid entered the grandmother's room to perform one of the hardest tasks ever demanded of human nature—to speak calmly, and move slowly, while knowMg that every second brings nearer a ! horrible doom. "Grandma," said Verona, "you . promised to give us that death powder f ever we needed it. We need it now . —this -moment." - « The grandmother slowly turned ; her head on the pillow, while their , agonised ears heard the sounds below , grow louder and louder. » "The powder?" she said. "That 5 drawer—my casket." f Crash! That was the outer door 5 giving wav, and the wild veil that s followed clearly meant disappointment at finding another door to bar their a progress.

Verona pnt the little casket into her grandmother's hands; the feeble old fingers fumbled with the clasp, while ;ho blood trickled from Verona's lip nth the pressure of her teeth upon it, and the sister tore at the flesh' of her throat with her fingernails in an agony of impatience. After what seemed to them an eternity of waiting, she drew jut a small white jar, filled ,with a bright yellow powder somewhat remTibing sulphur. "How is it used, grandma?" asked Verona. "Scatter—in the air—oyer their—heads," the old lady answered. Crash! crash! So loud, so dreadfully near, that it penetrated even the dulled aars of the dying woman. She gave a violent start, endeavoured to sit up ia -3d, and in the effort the worn-out sart ceased to beat. No time ior Drrow now, however, or even for nought, Verona darted out on to mding and leaned over the rail. Not

i moment too soon, for the last door ■ fell as she looked, and the crowd swarmed through; they had reached vhe elbow of the stairs—a tightlyA'edged, struggling, yelling mas. of men—when, with a steady hand, she scattered a portion of the yello",? powder.

The horror of the result was beyond belief; the infuriated yells sank to instant silence, the rush of feet stopped instantly, and a deadly stillness succeeded the wild confusion of a few seconds before. They-could not fall, for the crush was too great; each man simply sank'where he stood, till the staircase was barricaded with a solid mass of human bodies. Strangely enough, Verona felt no compunction for the awful thing she had done, only i sense of relief that the blocked-up stairway prevented any further danger from that quarter, and then she walked in a stunned, mechanical fashion, back "nto the front room just in time to see i hand grasping the sill and an evil face peering in at the window. How '•ie could have reached that elevation she did not stop to think, but, still i the same mechanical way, walked across and flicked a pinch of the yellow powder into his face. He loosed, his iiold and fell—died, as his comrades 'iad done, without a sound. Then there rose louder, fiercer yellt."rom the street; but even as Verona stood dazed and bewildered by t*ie winlow, with the little jar-in her hands, :hey sank to silence, the room faded into darkness, and—she awoke. Awoke in the glorious light of an Australian morning to ponder on the mystery of the dream-spirit who can change time and place, and even personality—the dream-spirit who had :hat night borne her from/Australia o India, and from the year 1903 to a battle fought years before she was born.—Vi et Armis.